


The dead wait for no one, not even midnight snacks.

by Arayne



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comfort/Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:23:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9112558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arayne/pseuds/Arayne
Summary: Liking Keith had become a slow realisation; just the mess of his hair, the curve of his back and the rarity of his smiles. But he had never quite seen him in red flannel pyjamas before.Lance uncovers Keith writing letters in the dim light of the kitchen lamp and realises two things; that the truth of those letters is more heartbreaking than he thought, and that he had slowly fallen for Keith Kogane.





	

There was another occupant at the kitchen table when Lance entered it for a quick snack around 2am at night, messy hair sticking up from behind and startling him under the dim light of the kitchen lamp. Of course, it was nothing new for Lance to be wandering about around midnight, but he had not expected to see his roommate up at this time; especially considering the fact that Keith never specifically wanted to spend time outside of his cramped room.  
  
In fact, this was one of those rare occasions that enabled Lance to see the unfashionable pyjamas he wore, red flannel wrapped around a lithe frame and Lance refrained from a disdainful snort. He wore slippers too, fuzzy ones that warmed his toes and made him wonder just when he had started to think of Keith Kogane as anything close to adorable.

He broke the silence intentionally before slipping up behind Keith. “Hey.”  
  
Predictably, Keith started in a flourish of a chair scraped back and papers hastily pushed away. “Why’re you up?”

“Rude.” A casual shrug of his shoulders and Lance stepped closer. “I was getting a snack. If you’d been up before at midnight, you would have known about this.”

Keith offered nothing in response and Lance noted the way in which he had messily shoved his bangs to the side with a bobbypin or two. _Cute_. “So are you going to explain why you’re hastily hiding your love letters from me?

“They’re not love letters.” Keith hissed in response, a glare settled between his brows whose heat could only frighten a child – not a grown man who had been used to living with him for months now. “It’s my paper.”

“Handwritten paper?” Lance scoffed. “You could simply confess to me you know.”  
  
“What would I confess to you McClain?”  
   
“Your love for me, obviously.” 

Lance teased along the edge of Keith’s chair, dared to raise a finger over the soft flannel and running it up alongside his arm as if fascinated. In truth, he was keenly watching Keith’s responses and could feel the slight tremor going through him, the way his eyes raised and cheeks flushed and he was just so damned captivating that it hit Lance suddenly.

_I’ve been in love with this kid._

There had been stories, surely, of love that hit you like that. It was supposed to be poetic, like lightning striking but all Lance could feel was the slow heat that crawled from his ankles to the tips of his fingers, the smile that curled the corners of his mouth until the white of his teeth showed and all he could see was a boy who had always been too smart for his own good, always too captivating with the cupid’s bow of his lips, the hidden grey of his eyes, and the messy mane of hair that tickled his neck in a good way. That made Lance _feel_ in a good way.

“I’ll make you a coffee.” Cupid did not let him kiss Keith, startled as he looked at their close proximity, and Lance nudged him gently to the side with a hip. 

“You’re right.” Keith’s voice was all soft syllables yet held a determined tone of voice beneath. Lance did not look up from the coffee machine, fascinated by its sound – not wanting it spoiled by pretty lips and pretty eyes. “It’s not an essay.” 

“Of course it’s not.” He fiddled with the buttons. “I’m the expert after all.” 

“It’s a letter.” 

“I told you.” 

“To my parents.” 

And the room stilled because to the best of Lance’s knowledge, Keith had no parents to speak of. It had come up once during the necessary roomie interview when all that Lance had been interested in was whether Keith could pay rent (he could) and whether he could do basic household chores (questionable, still working on it). Keith had only mentioned it during the official documents, when he had written down a number of a guy named Shiro as an emergency contact and Lance had not been brave enough to expand on the topic. 

And Keith had never brought it up, until now. 

“Why?” At the risk of sounding insensitive with his back turned to a boy who owed him nothing, Lance faced him, the comforting sounds of a dripping coffee pot behind him. 

A noncommittal shrug, but there was a stiffness to his posture now. “It’s a bit morbid.” 

“Surprise me.”

“Their death anniversary is coming up soon.” And all these months Lance had never known. He had always, somehow, assumed that Keith would be fine and even looking at him now with the frigid slope of narrow shoulders, the way his back curved at the waist – Lance still had the distinct impression that maybe Keith had been ‘fine’ for too long. 

“What do you do with them?” And from the surprise on Keith’s face Lance could guess that pretty much anyone else had dropped the topic like a hot plate after his admission. But Lance was stubborn, insistent, needed to know more. 

“I burn them.” Keith relinquished his hold on the fragile bits of paper. “When I’m done writing.” 

“Do you visit them?” Lance started, keeping his distance when he wasn’t sure whether his intimacy was wanted. 

“Cremation.” Keith’s smile held nothing worth of value. This made it very difficult to discern how he felt about spilling a personal secret after what must have been months of anxious build-up regarding a date that he abhorred. 

“Surely they must have spread the ashes _somewhere_.” And he winced at the break in Keith’s face, the grey that flared up with purple – his mouth that pulled back in quip and Lance wanted to take it back, wanted to walk himself all the way back to the moment he entered the kitchen but to his surprise Keith did not start yelling at him. There was the briefest flicker of a wince, more melancholy than angry. “We picked a cliché spot, just a middle-sized lake near the edge of town.”

Just when Lance thought that Keith wouldn’t continue, the breakfast table creaked against Keith’s sudden weight and he heaved a sigh. “I don’t necessarily want to go back there Lance.” 

“That’s fine.” And he dared step closer when Keith’s posture had relaxed. He dared put a hand to a bony shoulder that seemed too brittle under his touch, as though Keith had never been a martial arts champion, as if Keith had never been anything more than a boy that reached one bare inch underneath the top of his hair, a boy who had deserved more than what life had thrown at him. 

Keith didn’t push him away, just looked up with the barest sliver of a smile. “Getting handsy Lance?” 

“Getting nervous Keith?” He shot back but before Keith could retort Lance simply applied the pressure required and pulled him into a hug that he felt was long overdue. The way his body broke beneath his own upset him. It was a harsh frame first, tensely-coiled muscles that pushed against his hands unwillingly as they moved from shoulder blades to the rigidity of the small of his back, before it softened with a tremor and Lance was blessed with an easy laugh.

“A little.” 

It was the only encouragement Lance needed; wrapping his arms firmly around a tight waist, forearms pressing against soft fabric and he bent down only the one inch required to bury his face into Keith’s neck. “I should have done this before.” 

“Hm.” Another pair of hands came up to rest against Lance’s shoulders and the hum reverberated against Lance’s cheek. 

“Is it inappropriate to tell you that I want more of this?” 

A genuine laugh this time. “No.” 

“Good.”  
  
“Yeah.” 

It was a warm press of bodies for a while, Keith was quiet but comfortable in the way he awkwardly fit into Lance’s arms and Lance was all but happy to hold him and murmur soft words into his hair, small offerings of burning the paper with him, words of pride and encouragement and even if they were cliché – Keith seemed to appreciate them when his hands tugged Lance simply tighter, closer, firmer.

A few days later saw bits of blackened paper spread out over the smallest lake in their community, a strong arm wrapped around a pair of shoulders that pulled them terribly close. 

Another few days later and Lance asked Keith out on a proper date, startling him into silence, before his face broke into a smile. 

It might have been unconventional, quite possibly inappropriate but Lance loved nothing if not a challenge.

And there was the distinct feeling in the comforting press of Keith’s lips to his cheek that knew they were going to be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> And so we're doing a prompt challenge! My prompt was: You’re my roommate who’s super cute and it’s the middle of the night and you’re cramming for your exams in your flannel pyjamas and dishevelled hair and it’s becoming increasingly hard for me not to kiss you
> 
> I got a bit carried away. It wasn't supposed to be over 500 words but it ended up being three times the amount. 
> 
> I'll most likely end up doing quite a few more of these prompts over the coming two weeks, feel free to check back here.


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